


Box of Wormwood

by Emmessann



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Body Horror, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Chris, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmessann/pseuds/Emmessann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, this fic has received a (purely coincidental) celebrity endorsement at the first Wolf Moon Con in answer to the question: What supernatural creature would the actors like to see on Teen Wolf? </p>
<p>JR: "butterflies, really dangerous butterflies."<br/>Tyler H: "Greek mythology monsters."<br/>JR: "Greek butterflies."</p>
<p>Well, gentlemen, against all odds and common sense, this one goes out to the both of you.<br/>(thanks to felicitysmock for the con notes.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Chris took the headshot, Kate exploded -- burst into a swarm of satanic butterflies. Now Derek's terminally infested, waiting to see what physical or emotional hell will break out next. Chris would give anything to save his friend, but they both know the clock is ticking on their last desperate hope.</p>
<p>Diverges from the final scene of Season 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Medea_Fic for the supportive beta. Also thanks to Princess L. for the translations.
> 
> See bottom note for more information on tags and warnings.
> 
> As I write the last chapters, I realize that this story goes deeper into grief and loss than I first expected. Some of the discussion of past/recent canon losses -- of a daughter, of a mother -- get pretty intense. I'd like to alert anyone who wants to avoid that headspace.

The moment Chris took the headshot, Kate exploded.

Chris watched helplessly as the fluttering fragments of his sister's shrapnel covered Derek. She'd been hovering over him, taunting Chris by threatening him, daring him to act. Derek was naked, his face clean-shaven, his back against the jagged wall of the cave where Chris had found them after weeks of shaking down bygone connections. Both arms were clasped in steel manacles bolted with thick chains into the rock.

Voice muffled, Derek shrieked "No, get them off, get them off me." His arms jerked but he couldn't reach his face. He was nearly covered by the bloody rags that were all that was left of Kate. Chris reached out to brush off his shoulder, then jerked back when he felt a flutter beneath his palm. The scraps were like butterflies, winged fugitives from a dystopian nightmare. Chris closed his hand and realized it was sticky with blood, that the hellish creatures were patterned with his sister's viscera, smelling like copper and bile.

Tucking his hand in his sleeve, Chris brushed at Derek's face and chest, trying to clear it. Most of the winged beasts gave up and fluttered to the sunbeams at the mouth of the cave. A few headed back into the darkness, flying along the small stream that ran through the cavern, floating along air currents like dry leaves rising from a brush fire. But when the rush to the exit slowed, several of the things still dappled Derek's crusted skin, wings beating, hanging on. And Derek, the most stoic man Chris had ever met, was screaming, begging for release.

Chris took stock. Only a few creatures still clung, but that included some of the largest. He could see three: one below Derek's navel, one on his clenched right fist, and one perched jauntily on his neck and flapping glistening, liver-colored wings. It was gnawing at Derek's skin just where his jawbone met his neck.

Not gnawing. Chris swallowed back his nausea. Burrowing. The glistening horrors were digging their way straight into Derek's body.

"Off, Chris...please, please get them off me," Derek begged. He was still in human form, but utterly panicked. Chris dove to open Kate's preferred manacles -- no key, just a hidden catch -- and with some difficulty, released Derek's hands. Immediately his friend reached for the large, delicate wings flapping over his belly. With snakebite speed he gathered them in one hand, crushed and pulled. Derek's hand skidded off as if it had been greased. The creature stayed in place.

They both stared as Derek's grip failed again and again. Without further thought, Chris tugged barehanded at the winged thing clinging under his chin. The creature was frictionless. It could be crumpled but not torn, pressed in but not pulled off. When Chris paused it fluttered as calmly as ever -- and as Chris watched in horror, the black center spine that joined the two wings dug half an inch deeper under Derek's jaw, with another three inches left to go.

"I think they're magic," he said stupidly, wincing as the black glossy dart wriggled further, as if headed toward his ear.

"Of course they're magic, idiot!" Derek raged. "Your sister was a fucking bitch and then an evil jaguar and now she's made of satanic butterflies, you think Darwin had something to do with this?"

"No," Chris said, sliding through the grime on the cave floor to get to the bug perched on Derek's right hand, whose wings, nearly the size of his palm, had suddenly begun to beat with fervor. "I mean, they don't follow physics. Magic, not matter." He made a futile grab, expecting the same greased-air sensation. Instead, he felt a moment of triumph as the wings came away in his hand. Instantly dried, they drifted down like ashes.

"Wait, I got one," he began, but victory was brief. The black spine that remained, as sharp and glossy as a poisoned thorn, had dug more than half its length between Derek's thumb and forefinger as he hunched forward in pain. At the movement, Chris's eyes were caught by another flutter and fall at Derek's lower back. Another spine had lost its wings and was wriggling inside, just an inch still exposed. This time Chris pinched and pulled at the thorny tip itself, then shouted in fury as it sliced his fingers. The darts were sharp along their length like glover's needles, easily cutting through flesh. As if emboldened, the thing moved more quickly and soon vanished from sight, leaving a wound over Derek's spine the size of a nickel. Chris watched a moment; it did not heal.

Looking up at the expanse of Derek's broad back, Chris realized with a shock that the entire triskele tattoo had vanished. Had Kate removed it? But no. Derek's back was covered by two giant flaps of skin the size of dinner plates. Jerking out his boot knife, Chris tried to slice the black spine off at the entry point and at least cut it in half. He made some small progress, until Derek shouted in pain. "Did the knife slip?"

Chris looked down. "I wasn't touching you at all, just the black thing."

"I felt the slice -- like it's already part of me," Derek said despairingly. "Should have known I'd go out like this. Save the hero's death for someone who deserves it." He jerked as the creature on his neck entered fully.

Chris lunged around to crouch over Derek, grasping his shadowed chin to tilt his face up and stare in his eyes. "Listen to me," he hissed fiercely. "You are not going to die from this. That is not an acceptable outcome. We are taking you to Deaton, and he will get this straightened out. These fucking things with wings are not what kills you." Derek looked down, then nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw a final tiny pair of wings flutter down, heartsblood red but smaller than a ladybug. A quick scan showed every creature he had seen had either flown away or made its entry. He gently thumbed the bead of blood at the edge of Derek's right eyebrow, and watched it well up again. “You're not healing. Why aren't you healing?”

Derek shrugged, looking frayed. "Don't know." He gingerly torqued his back, flexed his right hand and inspected the entry wound. "I can't really feel them in there. Shouldn't I feel them? I feel bullets until they work back out. Where'd they go?"

Derek looked so anxious that Chris bit back his first thought, that the creatures might not work their way out until they chose to. “We'll call Deaton,” he said firmly, pulling out his phone and helping Derek to his feet. “The reception's probably better in the car. Let's go.” The water running through the cave looked clear, but Chris assumed his friend would prefer to clean up back in civilization. He cast around for clothes, but Derek only shrugged and staggered around some boxes over to a fully-made bed that lay, incongruously, deep in the gloom of the cave. The bed was made up for two, heaped with pillows and mussed sheets and the remains of hospital corners. It even had a delicate wrought-iron headboard of scrolling vines tipped with ivy leaves. On the near side of the bed, Derek bent over and pulled on a frayed pair of boxers, then quickly lurched away, just as Chris clocked the manacles embedded above that side of the headboard and hung his head in shame for his lost sister.

At the mouth of the cave, where bright sunlight streamed over Chris's SUV, they stopped. Like a drift of autumn leaves, the cave entrance was heaped thickly with the dried bodies of the escaping fliers. They were piled higher, deeper, than Chris had ever realized...almost enough to comprise the body of an adult woman, scrap by scrap, he thought. They were dried, crumpled, showing no signs of life. Somehow, they had mounded up in a crescent around the cave entrance as though they had hit a wall and dropped. Chris leaned forward to investigate.

"No!" Derek cried, jerking him back.

"I've been immune so far," Chris reassured him. "I don't think they can even touch me."

"That's not it," Derek said, and gestured at the semicircle. "Kate used gloves to lay down mountain ash behind us when she brought me here. I thought it was to keep me inside, but maybe it was for...them." He looked dark and rolled his shoulders, as if thinking of the creatures buried within.

The familiar gesture made Chris ask, "What happens if you shift? Maybe it'll purge them." He doubted the cure could be worse than the disease.

Derek braced himself, but nothing happened. Every hair remained in place, no more or less than before. "I can’t," he said in wonder. Then: "Call Deaton. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

Deaton was in his usual mode of helpfully cryptic. "I'm sorry, Derek, but you must not leave that cave. Chris, you cannot take that barrier down."

"So what," Chris asked, "we wait here until it passes?" His mind raced, reviewing the supplies in his SUV. If the running water was potable they could stay a week or more. 

Deaton paused. Then, "Let me speak to Derek alone."

"We got you on speaker," Chris said firmly. Damned if he was going to let the mage enforce his secrecy by remote. He glanced at Derek, who nodded.

Deaton paused. "Derek...I'm truly sorry that this has happened to you. After everything you've been through, you certainly never deserved this."

"So how do we cure it," Chris interjected.

The pained silence spoke volumes, then "...I'm sorry." Derek rocked back as if struck.

"There has to be something," Chris said. "You can't tell me that in all of the lore, there are no answers about what the hell these things are."

"We know what they are," Deaton said. "Thankfully they're very rare, but they're mentioned from time to time. In Mexico they're known as _Corazon Afligiendo_ \-- we'd translate that as 'the heart afflicting'." 

"But if we know of them, how can we not know how to fight them?" Chris asked.

"Because the lore is filled with failures. Even the most promising treatment left is now a proven failure."

"But how do we know that?" Chris shouted.

"Because it's what Kate tried with me," Derek said, "for a month. And she still couldn't transfer them to me until she died."

"That sounds right," Deaton put in. "Did she tell you her plan, Derek?"

"Not really," Derek said. "She kept trying to get to me, used torture and mind games and…" he stopped. "Nothing worked, alright?"

"Unfortunately, as you saw, after her death it was another story," Deaton sighed. "If she carried them for at least a month, by the time she died there must have been -- "

"Her entire body weight," Chris put in. "Thousands, maybe more."

"My god," Deaton said, stunned. "The lore never describes more than a few dozen at once."

"Deaton," Chris said, "just what the hell are these things? The Afligiendo are -- what, exactly?"

"That's not entirely clear," Deaton said. "What is clear is that they are not part of the conventional world. You said they seemed to be made of magic, and that's as apt an analogy as any. Magic is what they feed on, which is why they prey on supernatural creatures. Each one stays with its host for as long as it takes to feed and mature, both shielding itself in the host's magic, and draining it away. The creatures emerge...no one is quite sure when, or why. Kate lasted a month but was completely corrupted by the end. More often, the host is drained by a more gradual emergence. There's a traditional name for the host, then, _caja de ajenjo,_ which means -- "

"Box of wormwood," Derek said. "This...I can’t…I can’t just stay here, just to…" He looked pale and shellshocked. 

"Derek!" Deaton shouted. "I'm sorry to be blunt, but you must be strong. There's no telling how many lives depend on your choices right now. Out in the world, each Afligiendo would bring untold suffering. Many have been the cause of great plagues, devastating humans and the supernatural alike. No matter how difficult, you must do the right thing."

Looking at Derek's frightened but resolved face, Chris thought, _If you understood him, you'd know that he will._ Out loud, Chris said "And what is the right thing?"

"One. You must not...hasten the process. Alive or dead, your body's magic field has an integrity that protects it. While you live you retain some control, you bring coherence to the magic. If you die before they emerge there will be no way to stop the creatures from using all of the remaining magic to multiply, much as they did with Kate. The only way to contain the destruction is to endure it."

"That's one," Derek said.

"And two. You must not leave the cave, or break the mountain ash barrier."

"It did make a pretty good bug-zapper," Chris nodded. He tried not to think about waiting to die in this cheerless tomb.

"Exactly. It’s another layer of protection to keep the Afligiendo away from civilization. I wish you were in a more comfortable location, but the barrier combined with the cave’s isolation is really the best possible protection."

Chris had a thought. "Why would Kate lay down that barrier? If it protected others after she died…not really her style."

Deaton sounded grim. "I suspect she may have been overly optimistic of her chances in passing the infection from herself to Derek. Once he carried it and she was clear, she may have had some plans…"

"To harvest whatever came out," Derek said, kicking a box in the stacks of supplies. The contents clinked like glass. "She never did tell me why she brought in these jars."

"She left collection jars?" Deaton asked. "That's good. If that was her plan, they should already be warded to contain the Afligiendo. We can use that."

"Terrific," Derek said sourly.

Chris turned to Derek. "You can't leave the cave, but," he spoke to the phone "can I? I've got my SUV, I can go pretty far. If nothing else, for God's sake I’m a hunter, maybe I can bring in something that could take on the infection like Kate tried, maybe it would work this time. There has to be a way," he said fiercely.

Deaton broke in. "I'm sorry Chris, but it is imperative that you remain with Derek now. You must understand, you are the only possible choice. As a hunter, you'll have the knowledge and fortitude for what's coming. No other human would."

"Chris," Derek said softly, "please stay. I don't want to die alone."

"But if we do something, you won't have to die at all," Chris said. "The others -- your friends -- maybe they could come down here to stay with you. It's only a day's drive from Beacon Hills."

"Ah, but the Afligiendo feed on magic, all kinds of magic," Deaton said. "They prefer ingrained magic like shifters', but they have been known to infect magic users as well. If one gets loose, if one of Kate's is still around, it would go straight for any shapeshifter. To you, these creatures are virtually inert. Whereas I couldn't handle them safely, and nor could -- "

"Stiles," Derek finished. "It's not safe for any of them. They have to stay away" He reached behind himself to lean against the cave wall, and licked his lips. "Chris, please. Just until -- "

"I'll be here as long as you need me," Chris assured him. "We'll keep working from here. You'll keep the phone lines open, Deaton?"

"Of course," came the reply. "I'll let the others know as soon as they return from their hunt."

Derek stiffened. "I don't think -- I don't want them to see -- " His voice began to shake. "Maybe it's better for them if we wait until after I'm -- " Abruptly, his knees buckled and he shouted in pain.

"Derek? Chris?" came Deaton’s anxious voice. "What’s happening? Can you see anything?"

Derek was curled over on all fours, moaning through clenched teeth. Chris pulled out his flashlight and scanned around until he found it. Something long, the color of dried beef, like a caterpillar but with dozens of long writhing black legs, was crawling out of Derek's lower back. It stretched and squeezed along, gradually pushing its way out of an open wound an inch across. The creeping horror went on and on as Derek shuddered and gasped.

"It's like a caterpillar...the creepiest fucking caterpillar I've ever seen," Chris said, struggling to keep his horror in check as the thing fully emerged. "It's about five inches long, close to an inch wide. Brown with black legs all over its body. It's right on his back, moves pretty slow. Should I crush it?"

"No!" Deaton exclaimed. "No, you can't, it's too powerful. I'm not even sure the mountain ash can contain it in this form. Go and get one of the jars that Kate left. Get it in there, seal it up, and pray that it's enough to hold it."

Despite everything he had seen in a long life of hunting, Chris still found he couldn't bring himself to touch the creeping thing. Pulling a jar from the box, he tore off the box flap and folded it. With his improvised grips, he scooped the creature up off of Derek's trembling back and dropped it, unresisting, into the jar. He screwed the lid on as quickly as he could, unconcerned about air holes. He was relieved to see that the bronze lid instantly fused to the glass; Kate had been prepared for the magic end of things. He put the jar on the cave floor and turned to Derek, who was slumped heavily on his knees, panting for breath.

"Are you alright?" Chris said, hearing the foolishness in the question. Derek hung his head.

"I've had worse." He reached out a hand, and Chris offered his own for balance as Derek got up.

Levering with his arms, Derek got close to a standing position -- and would have immediately collapsed if Chris hadn't caught him and settled him back to his knees. "Legs're a little shaky," he said, but didn't try to rise again.

"That thing was right over your spine," Chris said hesitantly, "can you -- "

This earned him the sourest, true-Derek scowl he had seen since he'd arrived. "I'm not paralyzed," he said, "I can move. I'm just a little weak until I heal, is all." He reached out again and this time, with Derek leaning heavily on Chris, they got him fully to his feet.

"Maybe you --" Chris said hesitantly. He didn't like to suggest the bed after what Kate must have done there, but Derek followed his gaze and looked at it for a long moment.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, "but bring it closer to the light?" Leaving Derek propped against the wall, Chris went over and to his relief found the metal bed moved easily on the worn rock floor once it got going. He pushed it near the spring and in full view of the cave entrance, but not so far out, he thought, that there would be too much light to sleep.

With Chris's steadying arm, Derek hobbled over to the bed, and gingerly climbed in, arranging his legs beneath the sheet. "The healing goes faster if I can sleep," he explained, and curled on his side. He seemed to relax after a short time. Chris watched until his breathing evened out.

Chris went back to his phone. "Deaton? You still there?"

"I'm here," came the soft reply.

"I'm sending you a picture." He did so. "The jar seems secure, but that was...that was...he's got five more of those things in him, at least. Is it like that every time?"

"Actually, the lore isn't entirely clear on that. It's my impression that each Afligiendo may shape itself according to the being it inhabits. There are many descriptions, of many things. This creature doesn't sound like the things that came out of your sister."

"No, she was a whole fucking Pandora's box of nightmares, flapping all over the place at once. I don't know if this is better or worse. At least she went quick, no box of wormwood."

"No, but she had enough darkness within her to feed all those horrors, leaving nothing of herself. It sounds like Derek may have the advantage."

"Yeah, he's a natural ray of sunshine," Chris snorted. Then he sobered. "Deaton...tell me there's something, anything I can do that might save him. He's practically my last friend on earth -- you can't begrudge me that."

"I told you what I know, Chris," Deaton said doubtfully. "I'm not sure what else to say. Sometimes, our only refuge is hope."


	3. Chapter 3

Derek slept through the evening, while Chris carried in supplies from his well-outfitted SUV, carefully stepping over the mountain ash border each time. He briefly roused Derek to give him some water, but the man quickly returned to sleep. On each pass Chris glanced at the thing with legs in its jar, but it did nothing but lightly scrabble against the glass. Thank Christ for small mercies, it seemed no more intelligent or purposeful than the average caterpillar. Nonetheless, Chris found that he couldn't keep his eyes on it too long before he uneasily drifted away to check on Derek, or watch his air mattress inflate, or set up the sturdy clean bucket and bag of sawdust he’d brought in place of Kate’s disgusting ones. Not being as optimistic as Derek that his healing abilities would still work full throttle, Chris set up the makeshift toilet within easy reach of the bed. Latrine duty was something Chris had handled on many a hunting trip. After everything was settled, Chris dropped onto his own mattress, turned his face away from the creeping thing, and went to sleep.

Derek was still tucked in when Chris got up at dawn, and he wondered when he'd last slept a full night through. He had a feeling it had been much longer than his month with Kate.

Having verified the purity of the spring water, Chris knelt and bathed his face. When he stood up he felt a stir of cool air, coming from the cave itself. How deep did it go? He dressed quickly, clipping on his gun belt and pulling out a powerful LED flashlight before heading straight into the darkness. He had no fear. Even with Derek at half steam, after a month with Kate nothing in the cave was likely to be scarier than the three of them. Nothing that hadn't already done its worst.

Chris walked alongside the narrow rivulet that carried water out from the cave’s interior. The artificial light was so bright that it took him a while to realize that the ambient light was steadily increasing the deeper he went in the cave. Then he found the source of the light and the source of the water at once, and snapped his own light off in shock.

He was in a high-ceilinged cavern that appeared to be the terminus of the cave. The water flowed up from a large pool in the cave floor, several meters across. There was no way to guess the depth; it was simply a wide, clear, and fathomlessly deep hole.

Directly over the pool, about twenty feet above, sunlight streamed in through a chimney-hole in the cave ceiling. It might be two meters wide where it met the interior ceiling. From his vantage point Chris had no idea how deep the hole through the ceiling might be. He could see daylight streaming in, some verdant bushes edging the border, but had no angle to view the sky.

Stopping at the water’s edge, Chris gingerly poked a pencil at something filmy that floated on the surface. With shock, he recognized a bobbing black spine joining two nearly colorless wings. Glancing over the pool, he counted several more. The creatures from Kate that had flown back here, instead of heading to the sunlight...some had fallen in this pool, and not come out again. He stood and turned his light back on, examining the cave’s depths with tracker’s eyes. Yes...he could see the occasional curled-leaf shroud here and there alongside the stream. Not many had come this way originally, he remembered, and it seemed, remarkably, that few if any could have made it outside. A few dozen lined the stream as though they had exhausted their strength on the flight; some few who had made it to the chimney-hole had apparently faltered and drowned in the pool.

The water had hurt them somehow. Could that help Derek?

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a crash and an angry shout back in the cave mouth. Leaving the pool to its mysteries, Chris ran back to check on his friend.

Derek was draped sideways half across the bed, clinging to the headboard so he wouldn't fall off. His legs seemed no use for support. The boxers from last night rode down his knees as his feet weakly scrabbled against something slick on the floor floor...oh.The sawdust bucket was tipped over and the powder-dry contents were everywhere.

Derek collapsed against the bedside, beginning a defeated slump to the floor. Wincing to see his friend in such a humiliating position, Chris sprang forward to help lift him back up on the bed, briskly brushing off his feet as he settled them in place. Derek struggled awkwardly to pull up his shorts, then threw himself back on the pillow.

“FUCK!” Derek bellowed. “Fucking bugs, fucking Kate, fucking useless legs! Fuck ALL of this!” His chest was heaving and he dug his human fingernails into his legs.

Chris had always envied the werewolf his healing powers, exceptional even among his kind. Now he realized one of Derek’s great certainties was gone. He’d seen Derek face death in countless battles without flinching. But this time, he had endured Kate’s torture until the cavalry came, yet rescue brought no relief, only a death sentence. Amid all of that, the sudden loss of his healing must be as bad as losing a limb.

He hovered, unsure whether to lunge for another jar in case a creature emerged, or calm Derek down before he did himself more injury. Fetching a jar, he leaned over Derek and grasped his shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he ordered, “you’ve got to settle down. You’re going to hurt yourself this way."

Derek was having none of it. His muscles bulged as he used his powerful arms to lever himself into a fully seated position, legs falling uselessly to the sides. “That’s just perfect,” he sneered, “advice from an Argent. When it’s an Argent who got me into this mess, Argents who destroyed everyone I loved. Now you’re here, waiting for me to die -- just the cleanup crew, is that it?” His strong jaw jutted forward aggressively.

“You want to cure me?” he snarled. “I’ll never be safe until every last Argent’s wiped off the face of the earth! But hey, you made a good start!”

All thought of healing went out of Chris’s head. Filled with a searing rage, he punched Derek straight in the face, hard enough to knock his head back. Derek didn't hesitate to respond. Chris had a brief glimpse of poison green flying at him before Derek clipped him on the jaw and he sank into a pool of darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

When Chris roused, he found himself positioned comfortably on the bed, a pillow under his head, and Derek’s soft, anxious voice in his ear.

“Chris. Chris. Come on, wake up...you hear me yet?”

Carefully, eyes still closed, Chris nodded. Derek plunged on.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I said. I was thinking of Kate, not you. And never Allison. Chris...I’m so sorry about Allison.”

Chris lay very still for a moment as the pain and despair washed over him in force. “She was...the best of us. More than just us. Christ, look at my sister. My father.” He opened his eyes, looked at Derek peering down worriedly, propped on his elbow. “They were Argents. I’m an Argent. You might have a point. But Allison...she was…” He broke off at the feeling of cold glass bumping against his side. Looking down, he saw a sealed jar. “How?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. “It started coming out when I hit you. Maybe it liked the excitement. You dropped the jar on the bed, so I got it in there once it was out.” 

Chris picked up the jar and looked at the new creature. It was barely even the same species as the creeping horror from the night before. Though equally huge, this one looked more like caterpillars Chris had seen in nature -- ones that always meant bad news. It had a poison-green body with contrasting red dots that sprouted with thousands of small yet needle-sharp quills. Chris tried to imagine what it would be like to have such a thing crawl out of his hand, and shuddered. Then he thought about what it would take to get it into the jar afterwards. Glancing back at Derek, he realized the man had both his hands lightly curled, resting carefully in his lap.

“How did you get it in there?” he asked. “Hell, how did you get me onto the bed?”

Derek winced. “The stings hurt like hell coming out, and it took forever. I tried to pull on it with my other hand. Didn’t work. Once it was out, I grabbed it and dropped it in, got the jar closed.” He raised his left hand, showing how palm, fingers, and heel were all dotted with more of the creature’s vicious red spines. He swallowed. “They still hurt pretty bad, but...I can’t really use either hand well enough to get them out, now. What I’d give for my claws,” he joked halfheartedly. “You landed on the bed, so it mostly just took leverage to pull you up here.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m still pretty strong, just not my hands or legs now.”

Carefully, Chris took Derek’s left hand in his own and studied it. A cautious brush against one quill told him that he was, again, relatively immune to the creature’s physical being, though Derek hissed in pain at the touch.

“Tweezers won’t do it,” he said slowly, “there’s too many. But I think I have the answer.” He headed for his supply pile and pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Can do anything with this stuff, right?”

Chris pulled off a patch and gently laid the tape across Derek’s left palm. “Tell me if this gets too bad,” he said, and carefully smoothed the tape down flush with his friend’s skin. 

Once it was fully stuck, he grabbed an edge and looked at Derek. “Fast or slow?” “Fast,” they agreed at the same moment that Chris ripped the tape from Derek’s palm. He yelped, but they could see that most of the spines were now embedded on the sticky side of the tape. A few more patches and pulls and they were gone. Chris bound up the terrible exit wound on his right hand, and Derek’s shoulders relaxed.

“Thanks, Chris,” he said. “I’m lucky to have you here. I don’t deserve it.”

“Hey,” Chris said, “as far as I can tell, nobody deserves anything. You just get what you get. Look at Allison. Look at me. You can’t tell me ‘deserve’ has anything to do with it. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, and she would.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, “just like they should still be here, instead of the fuck-up who got them all killed. They never deserved Kate, I did. It should have been me.”

Derek stared into the distance. “You think they’d trade me? For this?” He raised a crabbed hand to encompass the cave, the bugs, the bed. “All this, plus a month with your sister. I got a few more years than them, but they all went together...was that better? Worse? Or is it all just fucked no matter what you do.” He slumped back on his pillow, looking despondent.

Chris would have said something cheering, but...what the hell was there to say? Life screwed you over and took everything worth having, he knew that as well as Derek did. They had both lost every good person in their families, and most of the bad ones. Well...Peter was out there somewhere, as far as Chris knew, but Chris had taken care of Gerard on the same day he scattered Allison’s ashes. It hadn’t made sense, preserving an evil old tyrant when the angel he’d tried so hard to corrupt was dust in the wind. Chris shuddered. 

God, he had to stop thinking like this. In his line of work, it never paid to dwell. Reflect, learn from mistakes, yes. But when innocents could die before you even knew they needed protection, introspection was a walking time bomb. It could make a man fall apart or explode or eat his gun. Chris couldn’t afford the luxury of self-indulgence yet. Not while he still had a job to do.

He dragged himself back to the here and now. He wasn’t much of a caretaker. Derek had seen to some of his own needs that morning, Chris supposed, while Chris was exploring the cave. Since then he hadn’t even had any food or water.

A thought struck him. He pulled out an empty bottle and filled it at the stream. He walked over to Derek, who was still lost in thought, and waved the bottle at him. “Want a drink?”

“Sure,” Derek said distantly, but he didn’t reach for it. After a moment’s wait, Chris realized why.

Derek’s arms lay at his sides, his fingers crabbed into useless hooks. Despite the work they had done extracting the red spines, he still couldn’t use his hands.

_He’s lost his hands for good,_ Chris thought with a rush of anguish. Then, _He got out of that bed for the last time._ Finally he thought _We protect those who cannot protect themselves._

Gently, Chris sat on the edge of the bed, facing Derek. “I walked through the cave this morning and found the pool that feeds the stream. It looked like Kate’s Afligiendo couldn’t handle the water. You want to try?” he coaxed. He held the bottle to the man’s lips, and tilted it slightly to help him drink. 

Derek took a few halting pulls, then sank back. “Won’t help,” he said. “I drank that water for a month, so did Kate. Hell, she went swimming in it. It tastes bitter, that’s all.” His eyes glazed again. After a month in a cave, Derek’s skin was sickly pale. The only color Chris could see was the blood pooling on his pillow, on the left side of his neck.

“Holy shit,” Chris breathed. How had Derek gotten hurt? “What happened?” he asked, but Derek didn’t answer. Chris gently tilted Derek’s head to get a closer look at the injury. With the movement the “blood” lifted and dangled from just under Derek’s hairline, although it stretched so one end still touched the pillow as well.

“Hang on, Derek, another one’s coming,” Chris called as he ran for another jar and brought it back. Now that he watched closely, he could see that the red puddle pulsated with movement. Like the others, this one was worming its way out of Derek’s body gradually, although unlike them, it didn’t seem to be causing him any serious pain.

Then Chris thought of the dire thing that had crawled out of Derek’s back and took the use of his legs, and looked up again in concern. “Derek...Derek, can you move? Are you with me?”

Derek’s expressive eyes rolled up to meet Chris’s, and he managed a lethargic shrug. “It’s alright,” he said, and was he slurring? “Can’t feel much.” 

That did not sound good, but Chris was distracted as the bloodworm detached with a plop onto the pillow. He scooped it up unthinkingly in his bare hand and brought it to the jar. This one was harder to get rid of than the others. It didn’t fight, but it released a clear red plasma that felt slick, yet clung to Chris’s hand, smothering his fingers entirely. As he wiped it on the mouth of the jar the plasma stretched into broad films that reminded him of blood gouting into water.

“Jesus,” Derek said, wide-eyed and more engaged than he’d been moments earlier. “What the hell’s that?”

“No idea,” Chris said as he struggled to clear the last of the plasma off his thumb. “Kind of reminds me of these hagfish I saw on the Discovery Channel. They do this to suffocate their enemies.” At last closing the jar, he saw Derek making testing movements out of the corner of his eye. “How you doing?” _What did you lose this time,_ he did not say.

Derek shrugged, a smaller gesture than before. “Can’t tell. Maybe more pain equals more damage. This wasn’ bad.” 

Chris hadn’t imagined it -- Derek was slurring, though it was subtle. Chris said nothing. What Derek couldn’t perceive, he couldn’t suffer.

Leaving Derek to a nap, Chris picked up the third jar, and carried it over to the others. It was easier to fight his instinct to get away from the creatures, now. Time to get to know the enemy. He swept the three jars in a row with his arm, and sank down beside them to watch and think.

Why were they so different? Deaton’d said Derek’s invaders would be different from Kate’s, but hers at least seemed to be the same species. Of course, if these really were like caterpillars and changed form, they might become flying creatures that resembled Kate’s. Somehow Chris doubted it. But even so, why were Derek’s so completely different from each other?

He inspected them in turn. The bloody Land-Hag just lay there, pulsing. It seemed to see no purpose in further movement, while the other two rarely stopped. Chris found himself just staring at it for a while. Coming out of Derek’s neck, it had looked like a slashed throat. Slashed throat...something pinged. He put the thought aside for a moment and moved on.

The really creepy one, the first one, wasn’t doing so well. Maybe it needed magic air holes after all? _Well fuck that,_ Chris thought viciously. It was more lethargic than it had been yesterday. Several of its legs were barely moving, and -- Chris steeled himself to take a closer look -- he could see a sprinkling of tiny white hairs on them, like the muzzle on an old black dog. He’d swear that yesterday they had all been glossy black. Could they change? Could they die in these jars? He hoped so, but that wouldn’t help Derek.

The thing was still plenty creepy enough that he wanted to move on, so he turned to the second one, from this morning. Since Derek had dealt with it, Chris hadn’t had a good look. Now he picked up the jar and studied it. The venom-green body twitched as if it would hiss at him. Christ, it was a living caution flag saying DON’T TREAD ON ME, Chris thought, and snickered. Those vicious stings -- this thing didn’t just look like it would hurt you if you bumped into it in a dark forest. This one would follow you out to the meadow and jump you by your car. It didn’t just say danger, it screamed rage personified, like -- Chris fumbled the jar, which rolled against his knee.

Rage personified. He pictured Derek’s fist, swinging at him while this thing ate its way out. What had they been fighting about? Right, right, the death of all Argents. But since when did Derek even say things like that? Years ago, probably, but not now. Chris was certain that since the Nogitsune Derek counted him as a friend, or close enough anyway. The Derek he knew wasn’t cruel about losing family.

Okay, run with this. Suppose this Afligiendo, the thing with spines, was Rage. Had something happened when the next one came out? He looked at the bloated red body, pictured the red film streaming as if the air was a warm bath, and thought “not a slit throat -- slit wrists.” Derek had been despondent right before Chris caught sight of this thing. So had Chris, for that matter; maybe he was less immune than he’d thought. Still, had the thing triggered Derek’s mood, or had his mood triggered the emergence? Thinking back, Chris thought maybe the creatures inside waited to catch the wave of an existing emotion, then amplified it as they crawled out.

So, the first one. The creepy one. Chris couldn’t remember exactly what had gone down before it came out. But he had a working theory, and it was time to confirm. He prepped a little and brought the jars over to Derek’s bedside. 

Derek was sleeping again, but Chris shook him awake. This was too important to wait. “Hey, buddy, I need you to play a little game with me,” he said, keeping his voice light so as not to provoke any outburst.

Derek looked grumpy, but if there was a grumpy-pillar Chris was sure they’d have already collected a formidable specimen. “What kind of game?” he asked, elbowing himself upwards with a wince.

“I can’t decide whether to call it “Wheel of Misfortune” or “The Bait-ing Game,” Chris said. He held up the jar with the thing with spines, showed it to Derek. “Bachelor number one. If this bastard was a feeling, what kind of feeling would it be? Take all the time you need.” 

Derek glanced at the creature. “Looks kind of angry.”

“And right before it came out, how were you feeling? Full of…” Chris prompted.

Derek thought “That’s when you hit me, right? I was angry.”

Chris had forgotten that part. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. Then he turned the jar around. “Ding ding ding ding ding.” He’d labeled the jar with a Sharpie and some duct tape -- seriously, so versatile! -- and written RAGE. “Well, close enough.” 

He held up the second jar, with the Land-Hag. “Okay, bachelor number two, same question. If this thing with slime was a feeling, what would it be?” He figured that Derek, as a young, cable-free werewolf, was unlikely to appreciate the Land-Hag reference. 

Chris held the jar out to Derek, who nudged it with his wrist and watched the slime shudder. “I don’t know...is gross a feeling? I don’t get it.”

“Bzzt,” Chris said, “okay, that goes against my theory. Maybe the angry one’s just a coincidence. But! Follow-up question. What were you feeling, just before the thing with slime came out?” 

Derek sank back a little. “I was thinking about my family,” he said softly. “I guess I was depressed.”

“Okay, but don’t start up again!” Chris said urgently. He turned the jar to show the word DESPAIR. “Looks like we’re gonna need a tie-breaker. I’d say we were both pretty depressed then, but I don’t know if the thing really matches the mood or not.”

“Chris, what is this about?” Derek asked, but Chris shushed him.

“Hang on, buddy, just one more and this one’s for the washer-dryer combo AND the romantic trip for two back to scenic Beacon Hills,” he said. He held up the third jar. “If this thing with legs was an emotion, what emotion would it be, and what were you feeling just before it came out?”

Derek paled, and Chris remembered that he hadn’t really seen this Afligiendo up close. “I know what it makes me feel, every time I look at it,” Chris said softly. “I’m just not sure what you were feeling right then.”

“Fear,” Derek said, unable to meet Chris’s eyes. “I thought I was gonna die alone, slowly, and I was afraid.”

Soberly, Chris turned the last jar, on which he’d written FEAR. “I’m scared for you too,” he said. “I feel it every time I look at this thing. And I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was late evening before they talked through all the implications. Chris grew weary of bending over the bed and wound up sitting on it facing Derek, instead. He grabbed a few protein bars for dinner, although Derek wouldn’t eat. Chris wasn’t sure whether Derek truly wasn’t hungry, or if he couldn’t bear to be hand-fed. He worried it was the former.

“I don’t get it,” Derek said. “I’ve heard of emotional vampires, but this is weirder than that. What’s the lore on a bunch of freaky emotions crawling out of a box of wormwood? You can’t even make a box out of wormwood, it’s just a plant. What the hell is that about?”

Chris caught his breath. “I can think of one story. It came up when I talked to Deaton -- I can’t believe he didn’t see it.”

Derek made his regal “go on” face, and Chris bit back a smile. “Pandora’s Box,” he said. “Pandora’s Box unleashes every evil onto mankind, and once it's open they're out of the box forever. Deaton said these things bring plagues. Maybe some of them unleash emotion, too.”

“Okay,” Derek said, “maybe that’s what the Afligiendo are, but from what I remember, the story doesn’t help us much. It’s just about bad stuff coming out of a box, there’s nothing about how to fix it.”

“We’ll keep working on it,” Chris said firmly. “In the meantime, it’s a clue. We can follow the path and see where it leads. Anyway, I think the next step is clear enough. These things come out when you trigger them with strong emotion. To hold them off you’ve gotta keep calm, stay cool."

Derek made a face. “Good thing anger's already out of the box. That’ll help.”

“You don’t know that,” Chris cautioned. “They might be able to multiply or something. Look at Kate.”

“Fuck,” Derek groaned. “No wonder that bitch Kate -- sorry, Chris, I meant that _fucking_ bitch Kate -- figured I’d be the one who could cure her. Where else was she gonna find a werewolf with more baggage than her?”

“She was wrong, though. Obviously,” Chris said. “Look how much she carried around to feed them. She spewed out thousands of the things, nothing left but some greasy film on a butterfly wing. You’ve got six.”

Derek looked at him strangely. “Five,” he said. “The three in the jars, one in my gut, one on my back. I felt them all go in.”

“Those two,” Chris agreed, “and one on your right temple. It was tiny, easy to miss.”

“Great,” Derek sighed, “so, that probably wouldn’t be such a big deal if it wasn’t eating my brain right now. It’s probably getting huge in there.”

“Not if it starves,” Chris said, and grinned at Derek’s look. Then he sighed. “I guess...since you can influence them...you should know that the one on your back _was_ huge. Biggest one I saw, right in the middle of the triskele. I have no idea what it was, but you need to control it.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s pretty obvious,” he said. “Come on, you don’t know what it is? At least with rage already accounted for?”

Chris shook his head. “What’re you even carrying that’s that big? Pig-headedness? Loyalty?”

“Nothing that good in Pandora’s box,” Derek said. He sighed. “It’s guilt. Obviously. Claws at me every day.” He looked away.

That did make a certain sense, so Chris snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Yeah? Drop it. You cannot afford to dwell.” They needed a distraction. “Let’s talk about…” Not family. Not Pack. “Let’s talk about the cave. Why do you think she brought you here? That water can’t be a coincidence.”

Derek looked around the cave, taking in the contents. Chris assumed he hadn’t yet lost his night vision.  "She must've done her research with the jars, the cave, taking me. I think maybe she was on to the emotions, too. The whole time she’d do that thing where she'd smile while she cut me, lots of baby talk, but not so many psycho rageouts. Pretty good for her."

Chris sighed. "I can't believe she lasted a month like that."

Derek looked curious. "Chris, are you okay with Kate being gone? Will you miss her?"

Chris looked away.  "I came after her, after you, knowing what I would have to do. I don’t regret it. Maybe that’s _because_ I loved her, I don’t know. Kate’s eleven years younger than me, we weren't in the same house for that long. We were close anyway because we were the only two people who understood what it was like to grow up with Gerard. Once I learned what she was capable of -- " he looked in Derek’s eyes -- "I honestly have no idea if the little girl I left behind was already broken. But I mourn the little girl I remember, no matter what she became.”

Derek shifted awkwardly to his side, away from Chris. “That sounds like Peter,” he said. “He was a good uncle, kinda shady but lots of fun. It’s hard to remember he was like that.” He sounded weary, the slur more prominent.

“Time to turn in?” Chris asked. “I could, too.”

Derek paused. “Your mattress is flat.” Chris knew it had that pathetic fallen souffle look.

“Yeah, it’s got a bad seal. I’ll fill it up again, but my ass will be kissing rock again by midnight.”

“Air mattresses suck. Ask any werewolf.” Derek made a vague wave that Chris assumed was meant to mime claws. “Stay up here. If you want.”

Chris looked at the sudden tension in Derek’s back. “Sure about that?” he asked carefully.

“Bed’s big.”

“It’s a big cave. Might get kind of lonely.”

“That too.”

Chris readied himself for sleep, He combined their bedding and spread most of it over Derek, who had curled in on himself as if cold. Wincing at the foresight, he moved the box of empty jars under his side of the bed, in easy reach. Then he climbed into the bed and stared at the blackness for a while. He was half asleep when Derek spoke again.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you gonna do when this is over?”

“Take you home.”

“No, I mean, if it doesn’t work out here. What’ll you do? No bullshit.”

Chris saw little motes in the darkness, now, floating in a sheen of tears. “Hadn’t really thought about it.” Derek huffed with disbelief. “I might go back to Beacon Hills, see if the kids need anything. Allison’s friends,” he mused, “they’re good kids, really, even the werewolf sanctuary. I could do that. Or I might look up some hunters I know who follow the code. The Argent name may not mean as much now but -- I got skills. They respect that.”

Derek lay in thought. “Lotta choices,” he said finally.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I might just...disappear. Take off into the darkness, all alone.”

“I’ve thought about that before,” Derek said. “Could be nice.” It was the last thing either of them said for the rest of the night.

**

For the first time since the funeral, Chris dreamed. He was in the last Beacon Hills house, and he wanted to fly away.  “Come fly with me,” he called up the stairway.

Victoria looked down on him, stunning in a blood red gown trailing gossamer scarves. “Your dance card is full,” she said. “Let him go -- let them all go -- and follow me. It's time for us both to fly away into the darkness.” She put out her arms and Chris ran up to join her. But on the landing, he found himself standing alone on sisal carpeting instead, outside Gerard’s room in the penthouse apartment. The bolted door swung open and he looked in.

Gerard sat in his chair, head down. He bled black ooze through dozens of stab wounds. Chris was hypnotized by the spindly black drips that spilled down from each wound, twitching gently. 

He yelped when Kate jumped up from behind Gerard’s chair. She wore a tight, acid-green tank top dotted red with spatters of blood. She held up a dagger, covered with gore. “Who would have thought that ol’ Daddy had so much blood in him?” she asked mischievously. She advanced towards Chris, the dagger pointed upward, swinging it casually with each step. “Do you want to take a stab at him?”

“No,” Chris stammered, “I already -- I just wanted to fly.”

“You just wanted to fly, huh?” she parroted. “Well, no one can fly like Daddy! Oh, but you didn’t know that, did you Chris,” she said in mock sympathy. “I had so much fun flying with him after you left. In fact, the truth is...” Her voice rose to a scream. “You don’t know the first thing about growing up with Daddy!” She leveled the dagger at Chris’s heart, then abruptly plunged it into her own. Chris dove down and caught her fall, but she broke into a pile of glittering red spines that sifted through his fingers.

“I'll fly with you, Daddy,” a voice piped behind him.

“Allison,” he breathed, and turned around.

In the white marble entryway of their Santa Monica home, nine-year-old Allison held up both arms. That was the year she tried ballet, and wore her downy cygnet costume every chance she got.

Chris swept her up in his arms and spun her around and around. “We’ll fly, baby,” he whispered. “We can fly for as long as you want.”

She squealed with delight, but then wriggled in his grasp. “No, no, Daddy, let go!” Allison scolded. “You can’t hold onto my feathers, Daddy, or else I can’t fly all the way.”

Chris looked at the room. Fluffy white feathers were blowing through the air, fluttering away at the smallest movement. He hugged Allison tight, but his arms were suddenly empty. “Allison!” he called, looking frantically for the little white feathered body in the blizzard of down.  

“Allison!”

Chris sat up in bed, heart racing. From the other side of the bed came a retching noise, and a disgusting splat. Then, haltingly “Chriss?” More retching.

He gathered his senses quickly. There was only a glimmer of dawn. Derek still lay curled on his side, but now his head hung precariously over the bed, as though he could scarcely hold it up. “Derek? What do you need, some water? Cool cloth?”

With a heave Derek flopped onto his back. “Jar,” he gasped, “’s biting me.” His arms were wrapped tightly around his midsection, as if fighting to keep them in place. Chris scrambled under the bed and brought up a jar.

“Derek,” he said gently, “let go now. I got it.” Gingerly, Derek opened his arms, which were scratched and bleeding. The exit wound below his navel looked even uglier than the one on his hand. Beside it wriggled a sturdy caterpillar made of sharp interlocking segments, like a dozen claws hinged together in a line. Chris scooped the thing into the jar with the lid, then turned back to Derek. “You okay?” he asked tentatively.

Apparently Derek had just enough strength for an eye roll. Chris studied the wound. “I’ll get the kit to patch you up. Nasty little fucker.” He looked at Derek curiously. “Couldn’t sleep? Were you worrying about something?”

Derek shook his head. “Tried t’relax, but I fell asleep.” He scowled. “Fuck’n nightmare. Kate.”

“She was in my dream, too,” Chris said. “So this one might be -- what, torture?”

Derek heaved a sigh, then winced in pain. “Wasn’ torture. Maybe -- broken little girl. I dreamed ‘bout when she was good. T'me.”

This was news to Chris. “When was Kate ever good -- “ He broke off at his friend’s knowing look, and speaking glance down at the bed. “Oh. Christ, Derek.“

“Thought she was good,” Derek murmured, “so I let her in. My fault.”

“Okay, you dreamed about guilt. Same here.” He waved the jar. “That must be what this ugly bastard is, then. Clawing at your belly -- that sounds like guilt to me. You knew it was in there, so at least now it’s out.”

“Still two we don’ know,” Derek said, “big’n little.” He sank back, looking weary.

Chris made a command decision. “You get some more sleep,” he said. “Looks like you need it. I’ll clean up, see if I can get Deaton and,” he said to Derek’s look of concern “I’ll keep watch for nightmares, alright? Trust me. I’ll protect you.”


	6. Chapter 6

As he worked through the morning, Chris kept a close watch on Derek. He brought his first aid kit over and sat beside him while he slept. Gingerly, he examined the belly wound. It was hard to tell how deep it ran, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly. He taped several layers of gauze over it. He thought about using antiseptic, but the hand wound was still clear and he didn’t want to wake Derek. He doubted it mattered.

Next stop, cleaning the mess beneath the bed. Chris had no idea whether vomiting blood was better or worse for werewolves than black ooze; Derek seemed to have brought up some of both. Luckily, most of it had landed on the sawdust spill from the day before. He quietly scooped it all into a bucket and clamped on the lid. He didn't want the smell to bother Derek, so he spread more sawdust and carried the bucket outside.

He took a moment to breathe the open air and take in their surroundings. From the outside, the cave looked like an unassuming hillock. Not as tall as Chris would have guessed. He followed the path of the running spring out the mouth of the cave and saw how the water curved along the base of the hill, probably feeding the lush vegetation that seemed to grow everywhere in sight. He turned around and looked up, trying to figure out where one would climb to reach the chimney-hole and pool below. While it would be possible, he doubted that anyone had ever thought to try it. Scrubby bushes and tall plants with spiky silver-green leaves lay so thick on the hillside that they had choked out the grasses. Not an inviting climb. It would take a machete to get through all that, Chris thought, and even then you’d have to know just where to go. The chimney-hole appeared well-secured. Satisfied for now, he went back into the cave.

He looked at Derek, who seemed bonelessly asleep. Having done what he could, it was time to check in with Deaton. He pulled his phone off of its self-powered charger and dialed.

“Scott and the others should be here at any time,” Deaton offered. “Their hunt led them out of contact, but now it’s done and they called me not long ago. I know they’ll want a chance to say --”

“They can say hi, sure,” Chris interrupted. “Anything new on the Pandora lead?”  _Don’t waste time on good-byes, work on preventing them,_  he thought with frustration.

“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid,” Deaton said. “The problem is that even the familiar myth is enigmatic, and in fact may be a total reversal of the story’s original meaning. This leaves many variables."

Chris sighed with impatience. “Enigmatic, how?”

“Hope,” Deaton said simply. “When every evil thing flew out of the box, hope flew too slowly to escape, and was the only thing still trapped inside. But was this a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“You mean, did hope stay inside to comfort people, or is hope trapped in the box, imprisoned away from those who need it,” Chris said.

‘Exactly,” Deaton said, pleased. “2500 years later, due to some nuances in the translation, we still can’t be sure what was meant.”

“I guess I’d forgotten this part,” Chris said, “but I always assumed hope stayed inside to help. Keep it inside, keep hope alive, right?”

“Possibly,” Deaton said. “I’m afraid that will depend on whether hope puts in an appearance at all. There is nothing like it in any account of an Afligiendo attack. Although, those records are very scanty. There is also no mention of any other sufferer making the connection that you did, from specific emotions to the individual parasites.”

“Didn’t seem like a big leap to me,” Chris said. “What’s wrong with these people, that they never caught on?”

“They were alone, for the most part,” Deaton said simply. “Other times, the afflicted one traveled home, and destroyed their entire pack. Imagine the state Derek would be in if he had to watch his family succumb one by one to a curse that he unwittingly brought home."

Chris could picture it all too well. "I can't see him keeping rigorous data logs in that case."

"Exactly. The records we do have are mostly a portrait of unending despair. It’s another reason Derek is so fortunate to have you."

The talk was interrupted by sounds through the phone of slamming doors and chaos. "Is that Derek? Is that Derek? Put him on. I need to talk to him."

Chris was annoyed by the attitude, but did want Derek to talk to his pack. “He’s asleep, Stiles, I’ll get him,” he said. He walked over to the bedside and shook his friend's shoulder. Derek slowly roused.

"Stiles," Chris mouthed, waggling the phone. Derek looked alarmed. After days of pain, refusing food and water, his flesh clung too tightly to his skull. Yet another unnerving sign of his condition.

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea right now," Chris said to the phone.

"He can hear me now, right?" Stiles said loudly. "Put me on speaker so I can talk to him.” Derek shrugged and Chris did so, laying the phone on the second pillow.

“Derek! C'mon, man. Don't do this. Help’s on the way. You just gotta hang on til we can get there.”

Derek sighed. “Help me turn over?” he rasped, gesturing weakly.

Chris gently levered his arms under Derek’s hips and and shoulders, raising him on his side. Derek stiffened slightly but made no other attempt to assist. Chris tried not to react to his friend's increasing weakness but knew the sound of his heart must give him away. Once Derek was in position, Chris gently tapped the triskele. "Okay, you're all set."

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said. "You stay with us, alright?"

"Tryin' to," Derek mumbled.

"Yeah? Well, that’s good." Even Chris could hear the teary desperation in Stiles' voice. "You just gotta remember, we're all teamed up on this now. Scott’s doing stuff with Deaton, I'm trying some new searches in the codex. You just have to hold on, okay? We'll find you the answer if you can just hold on."

Chris wished he could see Derek’s expression. "'Preciate it, buddy."

"Anything else you need, just tell me, you got it," Stiles said with determination. "I'm not kidding, you want an extra pair of hands down there, me and the jeep are heading south of the border, okay?"

Chris was about to nip that in the bud, but Derek got there sooner. "Deaton says no. Kinda dangerous."

"Yeah, well, Deaton doesn't think of everything. I cast a mean circle of mountain ash these days. Where there’s a will, right? I got it all worked out. Like my own diving bell. Just say the word."

"No, s'okay," Derek said.

There was a long pause. "But...dude, you can’t just be alone down there. Not like this."

"M'not," Derek chided. "Got Chris. Not alone." He paused. "Sorry s’hard for everybody. Oughta go faster. Don’t like leaving bad memories.”

What did he mean, bad memories? “What are you talking about, bad memories?” Stiles asked.

Derek sighed. “I remember my mother screaming. Can’t ‘member how she laughed. Wish it was the other way around. Bad stuff wipes out the good. Better to just be done.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, “I guess if I was depressed and scared out of my mind for a  _totally_ understandable reason, I might think something stupid like that, too. Sure. But let’s talk about what an idiot I would be in that case. And pay attention because that idiot is  _you_. You know my mom died when I was nine, right?”

Wordlessly, Derek nodded. Chris thought about cutting off the call -- this couldn’t be helping his mood -- but then he realized that Derek had actually raised his arm so his damaged hand touched the phone, as if to make the contact more real. He backed away.  

“Did you know I was there when she went? I don’t think I ever told you. I was alone in her room, she was sleeping like usual. Just, out of nowhere -- her breathing changed, and I heard it, and I knew. But I didn’t call the nurses, because I knew they couldn’t do anything and they might throw me out. So I grabbed her hand, and I was crying so hard. I held on tight, and I kept talking to her until her breath kind of rattled -- I guess that’s why they call it a death rattle, huh -- and then it stopped. And now, it’s like all my soccer games she ever came to were one really short soccer game that I barely remember, but I remember every second of her dying.”

Chris remembered this story. He remembered the Sheriff’s perspective, describing this moment as the greatest regret of his own life, that his son had suffered this pain alone. Any parent would understand.

“And Derek?” Derek grunted. “It was the best thing I ever did, okay? It sucked, but I’ll never be sorry I was there. Sure it hurts, but I wouldn’t trade that pain for anything. Because that was the very last time she needed me, and I was there for her. It’s like...an honor, or a gift, when you can do that for someone you love.”

“If you need us, we’re gonna be there for you, okay? But don’t get so down, man. Hell, maybe I  _should_  come down there, see if I can brighten up Gloomy Wolferton, Population One. You can’t give up on yourself.”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “I’m not scared, m’not depressed. But promise me you won’t come. Please, Stiles. Don’t risk it. There’s no hope either way.”

Chris’s heart sank to the floor. He heard the belief behind those few simple words, and was sure all was lost.

Stiles was crying, now. “C’mon...you can’t say stuff like that, man. There’s always -- “

“There’s not,” Derek said firmly. “But thanks. I never thought that I’d be so lucky,” he shifted slightly forward, towards the phone.

At that moment, Chris made a horrified realization. The triskele was moving. Large sections of the three spirals had turned raised and thick, casting a dull gleam in the dim light. The phone call had drawn out the largest Afligiendo. He lunged over Derek for the phone. “Stiles, sorry, we gotta go. Crisis time. He’ll call you when he can, bye.” Hanging up the squawking phone, he cast it aside and reached under the bed for another jar. “Derek -- Derek, sorry. The big one is out. I need you to lie flat while I get it off.” He helped his friend lay down on his front, his face angled toward the center of the bed. This brought the creature fully into the light, and Chris stared at it, dumbstruck. He should have guessed the enormous Afligiendo would be a different kind of monster.

In form it was not so different. Its wide, segmented body was the dark gray of soot. It was massive, though. And unlike the others, this Afligiendo showed some small intelligence and purpose. Or maybe it just liked to follow dark lines. The creature had emerged at the very center point of the triskele’s left spiral. During the phone call it had wound its long body all the way around that spiral, made its way through the center of the tattoo and continued tracing the path from the outer ring to the center of the bottom right spiral as well. Its head hadn’t quite reached the center of the second. Left to its own devices, Chris wondered if it would simply keep moving and trace the triskele’s path forever.

Chris swept his hand out to drive the enormous thing off of Derek’s back. It did not budge. He picked up the tail end and gave it a tug. Derek cried out.

Needing to see, Chris pulled the light from his belt and clipped it to the iron headboard. Watching closely, Chris lifted the tail again and carefully pulled upward. The skin of Derek’s back lifted with it. Something jagged connected the two.

Oh god. This thing had grasping legs on its underbelly, probably a pair for each of the dozens of segments, all dug into the skin of Derek’s back. From the way they lifted his flesh they were probably barbed, to help this thing keep its hold on Derek and also to raise the stakes on the sheer obnoxious fuckery that had plagued them for the last few days. Whatever awful emotion this thing was, it had its hooks in Derek, and it was not letting go without a fight.

Chris hesitated. On the other hand, it didn’t seem to be hurting anything now. Derek hadn’t even felt it as -- Christ -- more than two feet of giant caterpillar had crawled out of his back while he was talking to his friend. That had to mean something, didn’t it? He bore this thing with him without noticing. Chris realized that he could not make the decision, here. Too much was at stake.

He didn’t want to shift Derek and risk hurting him more. For them to talk as equals, it seemed most natural for Chris to lie on the bed, on his side, facing Derek who still had his face clenched shut against anticipated pain. He put an arm on his friend’s shoulder, and waited until he opened his eyes.

“Listen Derek,” he said softly. “This one’s...kind of different. I need to know what you want me to do.” He explained about the length, curving along the tattoo. Mentioned the sooty gray color. About the barbed legs in every segment that would certainly tear flesh and probably muscle no matter how carefully Chris might pull.

“So I need to know,” he said “if you want me to take this one off at all. The others let go on their own, but this one’s still part of you. Maybe that means something. It’s not really hurting you; I bet you could even roll over on it. But getting rid of it will hurt, a lot, and you’re not really healing any more. So -- “

“How many segments?” Derek interrupted.

“Uh, I didn’t really count them,” Chris explained.

“Count ‘em. It’s important.”

Chris pushed up from the bed and leaned over Derek’s back. He started from the lower left spiral with the exit wound. Using his finger, he pressed into the unmarked flesh between the lines of the tattoo, to help Derek follow where he was.

“On the lower left spiral, here, there’s one-two” he counted softly, marking each place. “Thirteen. Thirteen segments from the origin until it gets to the center of the tattoo. There’s a little bend like it started to go up to the top spiral, then it turned around back down. I guess that’s two segments there. Then it bends down to the right, here, and follows this spiral...huh.”

“What?”

“On the left spiral, the segments are all different sizes, but they’re very distinct. The right side’s a lot harder to count. Depending how I look there could be four really solid ones, plus maybe four more little broken ones, or I could be wrong and the whole thing’s just one big segment.”

“Okay,” Derek said “okay.” Though his voice was weak, his determination was clear. “Get it off my back.”

“Are you sure?” Chris said. He was still worried about the pain it would cause. He looked down at Derek to check.

In the lamp’s harsh shadows, Derek’s tiny smile stood in sharp relief. “Told Stiles I wasn’ afraid,” he reminded Chris.

“Yeah, and that’s great, but -- “

“Don’ you wanna go check? Go check.”

Chris stared at Derek for a long moment. Then he bolted off the bed and raced over to the little menagerie.

Fear was curled up in a little ball, its long legs wrapped around its body. It had the same dried-leaf quality that Kates’ Afligiendo had when they ran into the mountain ash. It made no move when Chris shook it or held it to the light. Magic, matter, whatever it was. It was dead.

He looked at the others. Derek had also said he wasn’t depressed, right, and Despair wasn’t looking so hot, either. It twitched feebly, but it had gone from arterial crimson to the color of milk-fed veal.

Even Rage -- Rage! -- was off its feed. It wasn’t as fast as before, and the floor of its jar was littered with tiny red quills.

Only Guilt seemed undeterred. It humped to and fro across the glass. Chris hurried back to the bed to report his findings.

“You were right,” he said excitedly, “Fear is dead, Despair is circling the drain. Did you figure something out about the story? How did you know?

But Derek only shook his head. “Jus’ knew m’not afraid of dying.” Chris’s new hopes for a cure sank. “S’ gone. Now I wan’ this one gone, too. S’okay if it hurts.”

“Alright,” Chris assured him. He took a few minutes to plan his attack. He brought out a sturdy pair of no-slip gloves from his gear, and put them on. He doubted the thing was going to pull apart, but Derek’s back would get slick and messy. He readied the first aid kit as well. The next jar stood open and waiting.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I”m gonna do it now.” Derek tensed.

Gloves on, Chris grasped the tail end of the creature once again, and began to pull. He quickly realized that this removal required strategy and strength. It took many harsh jerks to get each pair of legs out of Derek’s back, the barbs pulling away knots of flesh like a studded cat o' nine. Chris had to pause and adjust his position several times to follow the curving path around the spirals. The thing was not just long, but heavy as well. Where none of the others weighed more than a few ounces, by the time Chris neared the center of the triskele he realized that he was maneuvering at least ten leaden pounds, with several more to go.

He knew Derek was fighting to soldier through the pain, but he cried out in fresh agony every time a segment came loose. Fortunately, this eased off somewhat once they reached the second, incomplete spiral. As the head segment pulled free, Chris scooped up the entire thing and dropped it into the jar, where it fell to the bottom in a tangled heap, writhing. He capped it and moved it over with the others. Stripping off his gory gloves, he returned to tend to Derek’s back.

“God, I’m sorry about that,” he said. He noticed that each barbed segment had torn a visibly unique wound from the triskele. Dressing them would take time. A distraction was in order. “Hey -- why did you want to know how many segments that thing had, anyway? Just to get ready?”

Gingerly, Derek shook his head. “S’grief.” he murmured. “Left side’s fam’ly. Eleven in the fire, Laura’n’Peter. Thirteen -- oh, Cora.” He looked confused.

“Maybe you’ve been carrying some grief for yourself, then,” Chris said. He looked down at the right spiral. The wounds left behind were smaller, but just as confused as the segments above them. There were many more connections than he would have guessed. “What’s the right spiral mean, then?” he asked. “Didn’t really get finished.”

“Friends,” Derek said, “or new pack. Still had a future -- s’why it’s not finished.”

Chris finished taping down the dressing. “And the other spiral?” he asked. “Looked like it didn’t know if it was coming or going up there. Who’re those two?”

Derek lay silent for a long time, and Chris realized he was embarrassed. “Lovers,” he said finally. “Didn’ get too far with them. Screwed the first one up bad.” The wound there was one of the deepest.

“What about the other?” Chris asked curiously.

“Ran out of time.”


	7. Chapter 7

That night, they shared the bed again. Derek seemed lighter with sixteen pounds of grief off his back, but faded in and out during the evening. It was comical, to see such a strapping man turn pink and mumbling when he finally had to ask for Chris’s help to see to his needs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris assured him. “If there’s one thing we’re fully stocked up on, it’s jars. Hey, maybe next time you can piss on Fear’s shriveled corpse. Like a metaphor.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You don’ave the spark to break that seal,” he said. More seriously: “Thank god.”

“Yeah, I kinda forgot about that,” Chris said. He held up the jar to the light, showing how he’d tightened the magic lid on the inelegant contents.  “Guess we’ll leave this here to mystify future generations.”

“Prob’ly think it’s a sacred offering,” Derek said, his eyes drifting closed. He was out for the night. Even lying on his wounded back, as he'd requested, he seemed to sleep more calmly than Chris had yet seen him.

The bed was more comfortable than the air mattress, and Chris preferred to be nearby anyway. He washed his hands, brushed his teeth with the bitter water from the stream, made sure the phone was charging, climbed into bed and turned off the makeshift lantern.

He lay awake a long time, soothed by the steady in-and-out of Derek’s breath.

***

If he dreamed, he did not remember it. What he did remember was waking up once in the middle of the night, wrapped around a large, solid body. Maybe he’d needed the warmth. Maybe he liked to cuddle. Maybe those college experiments had just been dormant for twenty-five years.

Maybe he wanted proof that Derek was still there.

Yeah, that was it. He made a mental note to wake up before Derek, and went back to sleep.

***

“Chriss.”

Okay, he was a slow riser.

“Chriss.” He bolted up. Derek sounded truly upset.

There was no need to switch on the light. By the sunlight streaming in, he made it about 11:30. How on earth had he slept so long? He turned to Derek. “What’s wrong, buddy? I’m sorry,” and stopped.

For the first time since this ordeal began -- for the first time Chris had ever personally witnessed or heard of -- Derek Hale was crying. Fat, round tears streamed from his eyes and down his nose and cheeks, dripping off his chin.

_He’s too weak to wipe them away,_ he thought numbly. “You want a tissue?” he asked, then winced.

Derek shook his head. “S’okay for now. Chriss, lissen…”

“What do you need, Derek?” Chris asked gently.

“Need a promise.”

Well, that was different. “Anything, Derek,” Chris said. “Just name it.”

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout when I go,” Derek mumbled. “Don’ wanna.”

“You don’t want to go?” Immediately Chris began rifling through their dwindling options. “Okay, I’ll call Deaton and round up the kids, and…” But Derek was shaking his head.

“Hafta go,” he said gently, and oh god Derek was trying to comfort him from his deathbed. “Jus -- don’ wanna.”

Chris fished Derek’s left hand from under the covers, and clasped it in his. “I don’t understand.”

Derek jerked his head over to where the jars sat. “For years, I carried them. Couldn’ see two steps ahead.” He sighed. “Talkin t’Stiles, I thought, I won’t see this scrawny lil’ pest grow up. Wanna see the man he’ll be.” He cut his eyes over to Chris. “All of you. That’s my grief now. There’s a future ahead, ‘n I’m sad I’ll miss it.”

Unable to stand the tears anymore, Chris pulled up a corner of the sheet and dabbed at Derek’s face. The werewolf endured the care with unprecedented grace. “I want you in that future too, Derek. God, who’d ever think I’d want that more than anything.” He sniffled, but it was a manly sniffle so he ignored it.

“Never dreamed I'd call an Argent my bes’ friend,” Derek said. “Never wanted friends. Just wanted to go out on a good fight.”

“I know the feeling,” Chris said softly.

“Yeah,” Derek said. “Thass why you gotta promise.”

“But what do you want?” Chris said, confused.

“Promise...after I go...you won’t head off into the darkness.”

Chris sat back as if struck. “You can’t ask that of me,” he snapped before he thought. “You know what I’ve lost. You have no right.”

“I know,” Derek said “But you just...you need to,” he seemed to search for words. “You don’ know what’s ahead.” His eyes drifted shut. “Stay’n find out. Wan’ that for you. Know you c’n do it.”

His face relaxed. Chris wasn’t sure if he was asleep or worse. “Fine, you have my word,” he blurted in desperation. Could Derek tell he was lying, if Chris hardly knew himself?

A single, pearly tear trickled out from beneath the heavy lashes. Derek didn’t stir. Chris watched in silence as the drop slowly rolled down alongside his nose, brushed the corner of his mouth, and broke apart in the stubble on his jaw.

Then the tiny teardrop apparently regrouped, turned around, and began cautiously inching its way back up Derek’s face.

“Holy shit,” Chris breathed, and scrambled for a jar. “Derek, the last one, the little one, it’s out now, hang on, I got it.” He gingerly pinched the tiny thing up off of Derek’s cheek and inspected it. The beast was barely the size of a paring from his pinky nail. It was the first of all the creatures that could possibly be described as cute, especially as it looped its way across his thumb like an inchworm.

Then Chris dangled his thumb into the jar, and the thing sproinged so fiercely into the glass that it rocked in his hand and made an audible chime. Clamping his palm over the open mouth -- he’d never find this one if it escaped -- Chris spun the bronze lid into place and made certain the magic seal was tight. Christ alone knew what this thing was, to make Derek so emotional.

Derek was -- Chris groaned-- the words “sleeping beauty” came to mind, or maybe Snow White given the hair of ebon, skin of ivory, and stubble of four days’ growth. (What? Chris was a hunter -- it was his job to stay up on that stuff. Raising his little girl meant he also knew that clean-shaven, Derek’s most natural place in the Disney pantheon was Gaston.) Derek was sleeping more deeply than Chris would have thought possible. The appearance of the final Afligiendo made him dread its possible significance. He wasn’t sure at what point “sleep” became “coma,” and he worried he was about to find out.

For now there was nothing he could do, so he took the latest exhibit over to the zoo. This thing was the Stiles Stillinski of the Afligiendo set, with more nervous energy than all of its counterparts combined. It climbed up the side of its jar to the center, perched there, and then sprang a few inches to the right. The action repeated again and again. After a few minutes of watching this, Chris realized the thing was spinning a web across the jar on filaments finer than air. _Let it see what it can catch in there_  he thought. He wedged the jar behind some boxes to stop it from tipping over with the force of each spring.

His check of the other creatures was both heartening and worrisome. Fear: still dead. Despair: inert and bled out, presumed dead. Anger: writhing feebly on a carpet of red spines. Guilt: hunching in on itself, no energy. Only Grief seemed intact, though when he hefted the jar, it felt like it had shed several pounds.

For the first time since this began, Chris was at a loss for what to do with himself. He supposed he could pack up his gear, but his spirit rebelled. Too much like acknowledgement that Derek had lost the fight, when he was still hanging on. He compromised by tidying things in the cave without going outside at all. If Derek needed him he wanted to be on hand.

For many long hours, nothing changed. Hunters were a patient breed, but that was fed by anticipation of the kill, not dread of the death. Chris watched and waited, but there was nothing to see. Derek did not move except the slow rise and fall of his chest.

By evening, Chris was climbing the walls. He had never thought enough about how difficult “no change” could be. Though it had only been one day, he was starting to wonder just how long a werewolf’s body could last on its own internal life support.

Then he remembered the vivisection Gerard had forced him to watch that took up most of his seventh-grade summer.

Then he dove for his phone and speed-dialed Deaton, just to get some company and escape his own thoughts.

“Hello? Derek?” said Not-Deaton.

Chris sighed. “Stiles, why are you answering Deaton’s phone?”

“He had to change his pants after an incident. There was an experiment with an ancient Greek banishing charm and a pesticide sprayer that didn’t go well. He must have forgotten his phone. Why are you calling? Is Derek okay? Can I talk to him?”

Chris sighed. “I’m sorry, Stiles, he’s -- “

“Oh my god. That’s...I...if he just would have _listened_  to me,  we were gonna _find it_  for him. I can’t believe he’s -- “

“For Chrissakes, Stiles, shut up!” Chris barked. He would have been a lot less tolerant of all this if Stiles didn’t sound exactly as distraught as Chris felt. “Derek isn’t dead. But -- no, don’t get excited -- the last Afligiendo came out, he’s in a coma and probably dying, but he’s been exactly the same since this morning. I was calling Deaton to see what he knows, because if this is just werewolf longevity, there’s no way I’m gonna let him suffer like that. Trust me, it can go on for months.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said distantly. “For people, too, if other people are hanging on.” He sighed. “When I told Derek about my mom, I didn’t tell him everything. I think maybe I better tell you the rest of it.”

“You mean, about your mom’s passing?” Chris asked, more gently.

“Yeah, when she died,” Stiles said with forced bravado. “Look, everything before is true -- her breathing changed, I knew she was going, I held her hand. And I talked to her, and then she died.”

Chris was touched by Stiles’ trust in him. He couldn’t help but feel a kinship in shared grief.

“But, c’mon, I was a hyperactive nine year old, what do you expect me to say? Not something like ‘Wow, Mom, you’re the greatest mom a kid could hope for, and I’m so lucky I had you.’” Chris winced at the bitter self-reproach in Stiles’ voice. “No, not at all. Of course that’s not how I was thinking, of course it was all about me. All I could think about was that my mom was going, forever, and I didn’t see how me and Dad were gonna manage without her, you know?”

Chris had to step in. “Death’s like that -- it’s hard for the dying, but also hard for the living who are left with empty spaces.”

“Yeah, try getting Derek to understand that,” Stiles snorted. “I mean, he probably understands being the living who’s left empty better than anybody, but try to get him to see that if he’s the dying, he leaves a hole, too. Like, a huge one, ‘cause of all the muscles, right?”

Chris couldn’t help but glance at the bed where Derek lay, looking somewhat diminished after his ordeals. “A really huge hole,” he echoed.

“Right! So: back to my mom, because I suck in this story but maybe it really can help you. So there I am, doing all this crying and begging, and it just goes on and on. And at some point, I start to realize, it’s _really_  going on and on, like my mom’s breathing has sounded wrong for like an hour already. Well,” he amended “probably about ten minutes, but, you know. It was my mom.”

“Right,” Chris said softly.

“And, I mean, thank Christ, but I finally catch a clue and stop thinking about myself so much. All that ‘Mommy, don’t go,’ and ‘Mommy, don’t leave me,’” -- I thought, ‘hey, wait, my mom is the _best_  mom, so what’s she supposed to do when she hears me? She’s gonna give everything she’s got to stick around like _this,_  and that’s not right.’ I mean,” Stiles explained in a choked voice, “she hadn’t recognized me for like six weeks by then, but then I thought, wait, so if she’s _still_  hanging on just for me anyway, that’s like a total _miracle,_ right? Like, you gotta do right by a miracle. You gotta figure out how to resolve it, make it complete. So that’s what I did.”

“You resolved the miracle,” Chris said. “When you were nine years old, holding your mother’s hand, watching her die.”

“Okay, I guess that sounds a little dumb,” Stiles said, and Chris ached for him. “It’s not like I did anything that incredible. I mean, I was still crying. But I held her hand, and I said something like 'Mom, I think you can go now. You don’t have to stay here like this. Me and Dad are gonna be okay. We’ll take care of each other now. Go have fun. I’ll see you later.’”

Stiles took a long, deep breath. Chris was feeling rather oxygen-deprived himself.

Stiles resumed. “And I know it sounds cheesy, but she stopped breathing right then, and I swear I felt her soul leave her body at that moment. Actually, in hindsight, that one might have been the spark. But still. Sometimes, people hang on when there’s something unfinished. Maybe that’s what Derek’s doing. If you can figure out how to give him closure, it might help you both.”

“Stiles,” Chris said, “You’re right. It’s very helpful. That’s an incredible story.”

Stiles sounded embarrassed. “Aw, it’s kinda cliche, really. I mean, it happened, but I even saw it on _Supernatural_. Woo-woo, permission to move on --”

“Actually,” Chris said, “I was thinking of Allison. I remember her at nine years old, and I’d like to think that she would have shown the extraordinary courage and generosity of spirit at that age that you did.”

Stiles went quiet for a moment. “She would,” he blurted. “She totally would.”

“Thanks,” Chris said softly. Then he gathered himself. “Now. Stiles, I think your story will help me; more important it will help Derek. So let’s do a little quid-pro-quo. I need you to do me a favor.”

“How is that quid-pro-quo? I help you twice?!”

“Hear me out. This is the favor: Sometime in the next week, I want you to choose a moment, and I want you to tell your dad every word of that story. Both parts.”

“What?” Stiles shouted. “No way! I can’t -- “

“Sure you can. I won’t even ask that you trust me that I’m doing _you_  the favor by asking this. In exchange” -- oh, he was having fun now -- “the next time I’m in Beacon Hills, I’ll give you the _other_  volumes of the Bestiary.”

“Bullshit. What other volumes? We’ve found every animal we’ve ever even heard of in there.”

“You’d be amazed what vegetables and minerals are capable of when they really want something.”

**

Chris felt lighter when he hung up the phone, although he knew hard times lay ahead. He was certain he knew the closure Derek was waiting for. On the other hand, if he gave it and it worked -- that was it. Everything moved from a world of possibility, albeit a limited and cramped one, to a world where everything was decided. Where everything was over.

Chris was going to move them both on to that new world. Absolutely. It was the right thing to do, and his father didn’t raise him to shy away from the hard stuff, that was for damn sure.

But...now that he could see the boundaries, he wanted to stay in between the two worlds for just a while longer. Embrace the liminal. He thought that might be allowed.

It was close enough to bedtime, anyway. Almost full dark in the cave except for his light. He readied himself, went to check on the little gang of histrionic caterpillars. They hadn’t changed all day, either. The dead ones were dead, the others were still hanging on.

All except the little jumping bean. He pulled it out from behind the boxes, and discovered the creature had been busy. Gauzy sheets of webbing filled the entire jar, layered so thickly that he couldn’t possibly find the little bastard in the mess. He couldn’t see how it had produced all of this material when it was the size of a grain of Uncle Ben’s, but that was magic for you. It was going to die in the jar, anyway; he wouldn’t begrudge it some interior decorating.

The jar was still now, so he left it out with the others and went over to the bed. He wasn’t sure how to do this. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was wrong. Not even sure what he would do if he was right.

He climbed onto the bed, and sat facing Derek’s silent face. What was Stiles’ formula? Right: He dug under the covers, and held Derek’s left hand between his. Chris sat for a moment, just absorbing the warmth of his friend’s body.

As expected, Derek didn’t move; his breathing was just as regular as before. Chris took a long, shuddering breath of his own. Maybe it would still count if he was the unsteady one. What was left? Right, tears. Not a worry. He took one more breath, steadier now, and then opened his mouth to give his dying friend the words of comfort and the easy promise that he planned.

They were not what came out.

"Look Derek, you have to understand that your promise, it's not gonna work out. I think you already know that. This isn't some gentlemen's handshake that I can give you once and it's settled.  Taking off into the darkness...it’s a hundred little sneak attacks I don’t always see coming, and some of them turn out to be me against an alpha pack. The fights are fucking hard to win, is what I'm saying. I can't promise you that I always will."

"And hey, don't take it personally," he added quickly, a nod to the werewolf's delicate sensitivities. "You know who else once asked me for this promise? Victoria. After Allison was born, too. There'd been a bad hunt, I was pretty low, and after her dad she knew how easily a hunter can go out on his own terms.  She wanted me to promise I would never leave them like that.  And I did, of course I did. Meant every word. But then I'd start thinking Allison’d be better off with just her mom. I didn’t believe it afterwards, but I sure meant it then. Sometimes it wasn’t will or honor, just luck that kept me around. Christ, I hope Allison never knew about that." He feared that she had.

"So that's why I can't make that promise to you," he sighed. "If I almost broke it when my little girl was alive, I can’t make it now. Not even for you. I'm sorry."

Chris was exhausted.  It felt right to turn and stretch out on the bed. Felt right to turn off the light. He picked up Derek’s hand again, to seal the connection.

"But here's the promise I will make," he said in a low voice.  "When that dark pull comes along, and I know that it will, I promise that I will fight it just as hard as you would.  Hell, I'll fight it just as hard as you _did,_  cause hey, you made it this far and after what you’ve been through that’s fucking incredible.”

He smiled in the darkness, wiped his eyes with his left sleeve, and smiled again. “Shit -- that might even make the promise you wanted come true, because the only fighter I've ever seen who was tougher and tried harder than me was you, you son-of-a-bitch -- oh, I'm sorry, Derek, I meant cub-of-a-bitch.”

Chris grinned. “You might be thinking ‘fighting like me’s not much of a promise, because I, Derek Hale, never met a fight I couldn’t lose.’ True enough. That’s a risk we’ll both have to take. But if I lose, by god, I will go down swinging, Derek. I promise you that."

Nothing was happening, and Chris wasn’t sure what to expect.  He lay there in the dark a few minutes, then remembered one more thing he wanted Derek to know.

"I’m sorry I lied about this when you asked me before. I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry anyway. I know that if you can hear me, you can hear I’m not lying now.

“So one more bit of truth for you. The truth is, I believe you now. No matter what's behind me, there might still be something good ahead. After seeing the stuff you’ve fought in this cave -- fought and _beaten_ \-- I want to see what comes next. Who knows. Maybe I can even face down some of my own Afligiendo.”

After a moment, abruptly, the darkness was split by a sigh. Chris startled, but then he realized it was one long, drawn-out rush of breath leaving Derek’s body. And then silence. Chris lay on the bed, feeling the tears run down the sides of his face to the pillow. When he couldn’t stand it, he dabbed them away with his left hand.

His right hand, he kept firmly clasped on Derek’s. It was warm, and it was his intention to stay there for as long as it remained so.

He hung on until at long last, he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

When he woke up, Derek’s hand was cold.

Of course it was. Of course it would be; he’d known that already. Chris had chosen to spend as long as he could in the pretend world where there was still a chance, and now he had to deal with the real one.

It was early, so he reached over to press the switch on the flashlight that had served as a makeshift lantern the last few nights. Avoiding Derek's body meant an awkward angle, and he accidentally knocked the small cylinder through the iron headboard and down to the cave floor. He cursed in annoyance as he heard it roll beneath them...then stop with a clink against glass. What jar had he left down there?

Then he heard the distinctive sound of glass rolling, almost stealthily, against rock. The hell? Instinctively he glanced back at the group of six jars.

There were five.

There wasn’t much mystery about who was on the move. Chris dove under the bed and pounced. “Gotcha, you little maggot!” he shouted. Then he looked in the jar, and swore again.

He’d been an idiot. Not a web. A cocoon.

What was more, the shimmering white butterfly-monster flapping inside the jar was so beautiful, he first thought it might be a trap. It had been an irritating little grub the night before, and yet something about it made him want to protect it and care for it as long as he drew breath.

There was a whole lot of evil in the Bestiary with powers like that. Chris was instantly suspicious. He’d never heard of a Siren/Lepidoptera hybrid before, but it was a big book.

He assumed an air of calm detachment, and studied it further. In mature form, this Afligiendo showed a clear relationship to the things that sprang from Kate. It had the same glossy black spine down the middle, which looked just as lethal on this specimen. The spine rose up to flow into two exceptionally long, curving, flexible black antennae. Each one wrapped around the inner mouth of the jar, too long to unfurl all the way.

“So, what are you, the thing with whips?” Chris asked it softly. “I have to say, this is not looking good for a jar-free future. Sure, you’ve got pretty white wings, but 'pretty and deadly' has never been my favorite combo. Look at Kate.”

The butterfly flounced around to turn its back on Chris, and flapped its wings at him.

“Hah...are you Derek’s huffiness? I have to say, I thought you'd be taller.” Then he remembered that Derek wasn’t actually there to needle any more, and bowed his head under a wave of sorrow.

The bug stopped its flapping and, with surprising solemnity, opened its wings so Chris could examine them.

Up close, they weren’t really white, more of a shimmering blush-ivory. (He’d helped install fifteen different keeping-up-appearances homesteads; he knew his paint chips.) The curves of the glass magnified and distorted different parts of his view.

The blush-ivory areas were marked off by hair-fine lines of near-black that shone with a slight reddish glow in the light. They lined off cells of color like any traditional butterfly. As Chris’s eyes followed the lines, however, he realized that they continued to the edge of the wings to form a long, delicate fringe so fine he could barely see it, a feature he was pretty sure was not typical of butterflies.

Then the fringe caught his eye under one of the magnified areas, and he nearly dropped the jar.

He fumbled with it a moment, and then found himself cradling the jar in his arms, staring down at the creature, making reassuring noises to soothe it.

“Those are feathers,” he said. “You have feathers. That makes you you the thing with feathers. But that can’t...that doesn’t make any sense, does it?” With a sturdy two-hand grip, he lifted the jar up to his face. “Have you ever met any reclusive poets?”

Okay, he was jumping the tracks a bit. First of all, the thing was a still-possibly-malign insect, maybe not that much brighter than the others. Second, he was pretty sure it wasn’t telling. He tried to remember what Derek had said just before it came out. It was about the promise, he supposed, but he could only remember Derek’s own certainty that he would die.

Chris desperately wanted to set this creature free. But what if he was wrong? What if he unleashed a plague upon mankind?

At least he had someone to talk it over with. “If you’re...that one, where were you yesterday? We needed you. Plus, Deaton still hasn’t come through on whether you’re supposed to stay in the jar or fly out like the rest.” At this, the thing with feathers flapped them wildly, brushing the lid, lashing against it with disconcerting _thwaps_ from its antennae.

“Okay, that’s your vote. But I always thought you were supposed to stay in the jar, box, whatever. I don’t know what -- “ Chris glanced at Derek, as if seeking a tiebreaker, and winced.

As the light grew, he could see that Derek’s face had the quality he’d seen too many times in his life. With every muscle slackened, without the tension that never left him, Derek looked like a wilted wax casting of himself. It was Death’s memorandum that whatever essence made Derek ‘Derek’ was gone.

It was Chris’s decision alone. Looking back at the creature, he sighed. “Are any of the others planning a prison break?” he asked. He tucked the jar under his arm and moved up to the area where the rest were kept.

He didn’t even have to get close. Every other Afligiendo was dead and shriveled like Fear. Even Grief, so imposing just one day before, had gone from soot-black to ash-white. When Chris picked up the jar, it weighed no more than a stack of love letters. Even with the small movement, the long body began to flake apart.

He imagined the group of them dying all at once, with Derek. He was proud of his friend for taking the whole bunch of them down with him.

But if so, how had this one survived? He wasn’t sure. But this proof of difference was enough to make him think that the newborn creature in his arms was special. He held it up again. “You want to go outside?” he asked. Again, it flapped its wings, and turned toward the sun streaming into the mouth of the cave.

“Okay,” he said, “but not that way. I’m keeping that bug-zapper up a while longer in case something else comes out. But I think the other one’s a better shot, anyway. C’mon.” He retrieved the flashlight, clutched the jar to his chest, and started down the path to the pool.

When they entered the darkness of the tunnel, there was a riot of fresh thumps and thwaps. “Scared of the dark?” Chris said. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a light.” He demonstrated, but the tantrum continued. He had a flash of little fists clutching crib bars amid heartfelt sobs.

“Fuss all you want, there’s no one else here,” he told it. Then he grinned in memory. “You should wait until we go shopping. Now, what exactly do you need?” A fresh hammering of thwaps against the jar lid let him know.

“You want out? Already? It’s a long way; won’t you get tired?” Then Chris remembered a crucial detail.  “Okay -- uh -- if we’re gonna get you out, I have to think about how. I might have to call someone for help.” But he couldn’t imagine Deaton trusting him enough to release an unidentified Afligiendo, assuming he even knew how. Kate probably planned to leave the question to her prospective buyers.

He looked down at the jar which, apart from the lid, looked almost exactly like the ones his mother used to can green beans and peaches whenever Gerard was in a survivalist phase. From the top, it didn’t look like it should be hard to open. He gave it an experimental twist. Nothing. It felt exactly like trying to twist open a solid piece of bronze.

“Guess I better go back and call Deaton,” he sighed. “Let’s just hope he trusts my judgment on this --”

With a smooth, easy glide, the lid twisted off in his hand. The butterfly shot up towards the ceiling. Chris was elated, then looked sidelong at the jar.

“Um,” he said. “The ground rules for freedom: no infesting. I never showed any kind of spark before, so you’d probably starve to death, anyway.”

Fortunately, the creature -- which seemed a bit larger outside of the glass -- didn’t appear to be on the attack. Instead it swooped up to the cave ceiling and perched for a moment, then dove towards the floor, skimmed and glided several yards ahead, its long antennae streaming behind it. Its flight was equal parts bird and butterfly. It curved back and fluttered around Chris’s head several times. Despite himself, Chris’s heart lifted at the joyous display.

“I guess if you’re born in a jar, it’s only natural to want some playtime,” he said. “If you get tired you can ride on my shoulders.”

Chris ached for a moment, remembering a small, trusting hand in his. Surprisingly, the Afligiendo did perch on his shoulder as he walked toward a curve in the tunnel. He felt oddly comforted by the small weight. Then he grinned as the creature leapt off and pelted ahead like an eager second-grader. It disappeared out of view for a moment, and he trotted to keep up.

What he saw made his heart stop. The Afligiendo, heedless of the little corpses strewn along the banks, was fluttering above the stream of bitter water, about to dart down for a sip.

“HEY!” he shouted in panic. “Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey. Get AWAY from there, it isn’t SAFE.”

He exhaled as the little creature drew back towards him, but fear flooded through him and he couldn’t contain his response.

“You don’t understand,” he scolded. “You think these things are safe enough to fool around with, but they aren’t. Trust me, I’ve been around a lot longer than you have. You need to let me protect you!”

Did he say the butterfly was huffy before? That was nothing to the adolescent snit now on display. It would flutter a few yards ahead, then hover as if waiting for him to catch up. Once he was in range, the antennae would swivel to the side as if the thing was peeking over its shoulder at him. Then, with a flounce of wing, the antennae would be streaming back behind it as the little beast raced ahead, not giving him a second glance. Until he had walked a few steps more, when the whole performance would repeat.

At first, Chris found the drama amusing. A killer butterfly was giving him attitude. But as they strolled -- hover-swivel-flounce-repeat -- he cooled down a bit and decided to make amends. Though the pool was out of sight, he knew the next bend along the stream would bring them to the final exit.

“Hey,” he called softly. “I’m sorry about what I said. It was my mistake. I never warned you that the stream was dangerous. I did think you might notice Kate’s dead bodies lying alongside it,” he muttered, “but no matter! It was more my fault than yours.” The creature didn’t turn around, but it did seem to slow its flutter a bit.

“It’s just, you have to understand,” he told it “I want you to be safe out there. But you’ll be on your own. And no matter how I try, I can’t prepare you for every danger that could be waiting out there. All I can do is hope that you’re ready to handle it yourself. But trust me, I know: sometimes all the hope in the world just isn’t enough. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

He stopped. His apology had carried them around the last bend in the tunnel, and now they were in the cavern. It must be almost noon, because the sunlight streamed down directly through the chimney-hole onto the water, scattering the light into the cavern near where they stood.

Both Chris and the Afligiendo stopped a moment in wonder. Chris winced to see the drifts of little corpses still floating around the edges. He was glad they hadn’t made it, of course, but it was a stark reminder of the challenges the little creature in his care must face.

Perhaps it was hesitant, too, because it fluttered back away from the pool to perch again on his shoulder.  

“Oh, now that we’re here, I’m forgiven?” Chris asked. “I’m not sure this way is safe, now that I see it again. We could go back and scout out another route. Or, I bet I have something in my gear that could sort of lift you straight up through the hole; I’m starting to think those plants are bad news. C’mon, that’s what we really need.”

He was ready to turn around, when the butterfly leaned in and brushed its wings firmly against his cheek. The feeling made him shut his eyes in a wash of love and agony. There was one butterfly kiss more dear to him than any in the world, and he had never dreamed he’d feel it again.

“I love you too, Daddy,” Allison whispered. “But if you hold onto my feathers, I can’t fly all the way.”

**

Chris opened his eyes and spun around, looking for a miracle. But there was no beloved daughter, just an empty cavern and a now-hauntingly familiar butterfly, still perched on his shoulder.

“I should have known,” he said hoarsely. “You’re every hope I ever had. With you gone, I just don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll keep your promise to Derek, for one thing,” Allison scolded. He closed his eyes again. With his eyes shut, she was standing just behind him. “Dad! What were you thinking? You know I’d never, never want that for you. Not for me.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he explained. “I’ve lost people before, even your mother, and it’s always hard. But losing you was different. It’s hard to find any hope at all after that.”

“Well, remember this,” Allison said. “You have to believe there could be something good left to hope for. Like right now,” she sighed. “It all went so fast that we couldn’t say good-bye. I’m glad we can say it now.” He could hear her smile. “I think our whole life together just flashed before my eyes, actually.”

“Do you mind if I don’t say goodbye? You can say it,” Chris begged. “A one-minute goodbye after a lifetime with you...it’s not what I was missing.”

“What were you missing?” Allison asked.

“I wanted to know that you were safe!” Chris exploded. “I wanted to know you were prepared. I warned myself about the risks, I tried to imagine the worst. I still wasn’t ready for a lifetime of not knowing how you are.”

“Maybe we can both find some peace,” Allison said. “Daddy, I want you to believe that no one could have prepared me like you did. You kept me safe, you made me tough, and you taught me how to fight.”

He felt a stroke feather through his hair. “More than anyone else, you made me into a hunter who could love with a whole heart. I know now that in our family that was an amazing job. I loved my friends enough to save them, because you love me so well.” Another butterfly kiss. “Good-bye, Daddy.”

He felt the slight weight leave his shoulder. He kept his eyes closed. Yet Allison’s voice still sounded just behind him.

“That’s my good-bye. But Dad, please take this from me.” A tear rolled down his cheek. He heard Allison draw a deep breath.

“Dad, I think you should let go now. You don’t have to stay here like this. Me and Mom are okay. We’ll take care of each other now.”

Another smile. “I’ll see you later, Dad. Now go have fun.” There was a pause, and Allison’s voice turned mischievous. “But first...you’re gonna want to see this.”

Chris opened his eyes, and squinted. It must be high noon, with the sun streaming straight onto the water, filling the entire cavern with moving sparks of light.

He looked for the Afligiendo and gasped. It was hovering above the water, directly centered in the beam of light, just at his eye level. “Sweetie...none of the others made it out that way. Are you sure it’s safe?”

Allison’s voice resonated through the chamber. “None of the others had a dad like mine. The first thing he taught me, was how to _escape_.”

Chris gasped as the creature’s long black antennae split apart, and assumed the graceful form of a familiar recurve bow. Then the lethal black spine between the wings -- every bit as lethal as all the others, he thought with pride -- made some complicated contortions, and he realized it had found a new purpose.

An arrow.

“And the second thing he taught me, was how to AIM.”

The black arrow pulled back, in perfect form. “Goodbye, sweetie,” Chris managed to gasp out as Hope released and shot upwards, rode straight up the sunbeam, until it was through the hole and far out of sight.

Growing fainter he heard “Goodbye, Daddy! I love you!”

Chris stood in the cavern, staring into the distance, until the sunbeam shifted and the sparkles left his eyes.

I have to hope she’ll be alright, he thought. I have to hope this was somehow worth the cost. I have to hope -- A new thought struck him.

Chris tore back down the tunnel at an open gallop. He didn’t bother with the flashlight this time. He could swear he was guided by the sound of another beating heart.

**

When a man in his forties exits a pitch-black tunnel into a sunlit cave at a dead run, is immediately scooped up by a pair of inhumanly strong arms and swung into his first airplane ride since age six, accompanied by a bruising smack on the lips, he might consider it a little undignified.

Chris was okay with it. Nonetheless he was grateful to be set down with a bounce on the bed.

“It’s been barely five minutes. How did you know I was here?” Derek asked.

Chris's head was spinning; he caught his breath.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “But I hoped.”


	9. Epilogue

Chris could hardly tear his eyes away from Derek. He wore Chris’s loosest pants and a too-tight T-shirt as they sorted gear, swept up the scattered pile of Kate’s desiccated Afligiendo and sealed them in the remaining jars. It took werewolf strength to pack them tightly enough to fit, but Derek was fully restored. Not only was his strength back, but he moved lightly, with a settled air Chris had never seen before. It was mesmerizing.

“Any idea what we should do with these?” Derek asked, nodding at the jars. “We know they can be opened.”

“I think I know just the place,” Chris said. He couldn’t hold back his grin as Derek easily shouldered the entire load. “I’ll show you the way.”

At the pool, Derek knelt and gazed down into the depths. “Can you see the bottom?” Chris asked. Derek shook his head. He reached into the box, pulled out Grief, and dropped it in. It bobbed for a moment before the heavy bronze lid pulled it steadily downward. “Do you think -- “ Chris asked.

Derek shushed him, and listened intently for a long moment. “I couldn’t hear it hit,” he said eventually. “No telling how far down this goes.” He broke the surface gently with one finger. “There’s a piece of me for each of them. It’s a fitting remembrance.”

“I guess, if they don’t mind being memorialized alongside four evil caterpillars,” Chris said, dropping jars in to match.

“Enemies defeated in combat. That’s part of the traditional service.”

“Twenty-nine jars full of their powdered and/or soggy murderer.” They had gathered all the faded corpses Derek could spot alongside the stream. They found none in the cavern or floating on the water. Chris smiled in pride; he knew that was Hope’s doing.

“Honestly?” Derek said, rapidly dropping jars. “I think they’ll like that. With her spread as thin as that, it’s not so much eternal rest _with_ Kate, as eternal torment _of_ Kate.”

“And, of course, one jar of werewolf piss preserved for all eternity.” Chris dumped it in and they both watched the plunge.

“Hey, in New York omegas sell that stuff on the black market. Very valuable magic ingredient.”

“Could also be the warmest part of you,” Chris observed. “They might be pleased.”

Derek actually grinned. Grinned! Chris felt an unfamiliar glow, and realized he was truly, unreservedly glad he was there to see it.

They both looked at the pool, its mysteries sunk deep out of sight. “I hope there’s enough power here to contain it all,” Derek said.

“I’m sure there will be,” Chris replied.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna get smug every time someone uses the h-word?” he asked.

“Yes,” Chris agreed happily. “It’s not my fault you called in dead for the whole epiphany. Honestly, I still don’t understand how you ever coaxed her out of the ol' box of wormwood. You were Mr. ‘Leave me here to expire nobly.’ Where’s the hope in that?”

“No idea,” Derek shrugged, and led them back to the main cave.

They readied themselves, packing Chris’s gear and sorting the lethal items out from Kate’s. Derek destroyed the manacles and left the bed “to rot and rust.”

Then, with some ceremony, Chris broke the mountain ash circle, and Derek took his first step into the sunshine. Chris stood beside him and soaked up Derek’s pleasure as he took deep gulps of open air, gazed out into the distance, and turned and looked up at the hillside that covered the cave.

Instantly, Derek burst into loud guffaws of delight. _All those toxic emotions must have poisoned this joy before,_ Chris thought. It was the best way to ignore how the laughter was also getting annoying.

“No, sorry, no, this is too good, gimme your phone,” Derek said, snatching it out of Chris’s pocket.

“Hey,” Chris protested, but the days of overpowering Derek were now a dwindling memory.

The bastard held the phone up and took a picture of the hillside. “Deaton’s _got_ to see this,” he said, and punched ‘speed dial.’ At least Chris managed to lean in and hit ‘speaker.’

“Deaton,” Derek bellowed. “Look what --”

“Derek?” Deaton gasped. “You’re alive? I can’t believe it! Is Chris with you? Is he alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry,” Chris said. “We should have called sooner. It’s been a little hectic.”

“To be fair, I was dead until about two hours ago,” Derek put in cheerfully.

“You sound different,” Deaton mused. “Has something changed?”

“He released Hope,” Chris said proudly. “We don’t know how, because he was ready to die and begging me not to kill myself, but he managed it somehow.”

“Fascinating,” Deaton said. “Did it occur to you that Derek was expressing hope for _your_ future? Hope invested in another can be very powerful. And Chris, did you nurture any hope of your own?”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Chris said, eyeing Derek. He wasn’t ready to share Allison’s story with anyone else yet. Derek nodded.

“He's a hunter, they're not that bright,” Derek said. “I sent proof, Deaton, you open that photo yet?”

“No, but...oh. Oh my,” Deaton chuckled. “That _is_ an ostentatious display.”

Chris looked at the patchy green hillside. “What am I missing?”

“All your botany lessons, for one,” Derek smirked. “Didn’t you wonder why the water tasted bitter?”

“Minerals from the spring,” Chris shrugged.

“That’s what I thought, too, but I hadn’t seen all this,” Derek swept a hand. “Tell him, Deaton.”

“I’ve counted eighteen different varieties of wormwood so far,” Deaton said happily. “I’m not sure any other plant is living on that hill. If you two ever wanted to bootleg absinthe, you’ve got quite the goldmine there.”

“Whoever set this up did it for a higher purpose,” Chris said. “The water comes up through the roots, the leaves fall through the hole into the water. Who knows how many times that’s cycled. It must be incredibly potent.”

“Ah!” Deaton cried. “I believe we’ve uncovered a mistranscription! The lore says the Afligiendo’s victim becomes a _caja de ajenjo_ \-- a box of wormwood.”

“Which never made sense,” Derek said. “I thought it was about the caterpillars.”

“Caterpillars aren’t worms, _werewolf,_ ” Chris needled. “I think our friend Deaton has guessed the original term was _cueva de ajenjo_ \-- a cave of wormwood. It’s not about the victim’s body itself, it’s the safest place to take the victim’s body. Which Kate somehow guessed.”

“Exactly,” Deaton said. “You two have solved an historic mystery there. When do you plan to return to Beacon Hills?

Chris and Derek glanced at each other. Chris nodded. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he began. “I owe Stiles big time. Be sure he knows how much his help meant to Derek, alright?”

“Not too long,” Derek agreed. “I want to see them too. But first, tell them…” He searched for words.“Tell them Chris and I are taking off into the darkness.”

“We want to get a look at the future,” Chris said. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding tags and warnings: This story contains graphic violence and extensive body horror, but all sexual violence is in the past and not depicted. Some characters have brief or implied suicidal thoughts, but suicide is not depicted.
> 
> This story also explores grief and dark emotions related to grief, sometimes with some intensity


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